


The Unbearable Lightness of Being

by chakrafruit



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Feelings, Host Clubs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27867461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chakrafruit/pseuds/chakrafruit
Summary: Uchiha Sasuke sells dreams.He knows exactly what he’s doing and he knows he’s good at it, until Uzumaki Naruto and his unwavering grip on reality arrives. Suddenly, infuriatingly, it’s much harder to maintain the illusion.Host club AU
Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto
Comments: 31
Kudos: 121





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by 'the great happiness space', an amazing documentary on the reality of host clubs.

There’s a car parked in his reserved spot: a blood red Lamborghini Huracan Performante, gleaming in the afternoon sun.

It shines bright enough to actually hurt his eyes.

Sasuke doesn’t drive to work and it’s really the club’s reserved spot, not his own, so it really shouldn’t matter, but it’s more the principle of it than anything else. At least I have a head’s up today, he thinks grimly. 

He enters the shop, making his way under the washed out neon lights, pushing past the tinted doors, and comes face to face with Uchiha Itachi. 

“Little brother,” he says, shooting him a smile behind the front desk. The arrival hall is small but comfortable: two lamps that shine gold frame the deep mahogany desk on each side, where the hallway that leads customers into the lounge breaks off on the right. On the left, there is a comfortable leather couch for new customers to wait. 

Itachi’s hair is swept away from his face in an elegant ponytail, and dressed in a casual shirt and slacks. “I wasn’t expecting you.” There are neat stacks of paper laid out before him - he’s checking up on Sasuke’s paperwork.

“You’re in my club, nii-san,” Sasuke replies as he peers down the hallway. It’s dark and quiet, but he can hear clinks of glass from the expansive room ahead. The walls are papered a dark, lush green and edged with gold accents that trail high up, adorning the double vaulted ceilings that hang over the bar and lounge, making it look bigger than it is. In the lounge, rich brown leather couches are arranged in a neat grid. If he had to describe the style of his club, it would be art deco with an edge. 

He still has the scar from when he was helping the contractors install the mirrors, where one cracked in his hands and sliced his palm open. The club is more than just a business - it demands his breath and time and blood, all of which he offers willingly. 

It’s an Uchiha thing: if something is worth doing, it’s worth doing it so well that everyone else would wonder why they even started.

Itachi smiles. “Jugo’s here,” he says, “and the finances are looking good.”

“I’m catching up to you,” Sasuke says with the flash of a grin. 

“Not with four hosts, you’re not.”

Amaterasu is the latest host club in the Uchiha portfolio, with Sasuke literally being the newest kid on the block here at Minami. He knows it can’t hold a candle to Itachi’s club - yet. Tsukuyomi is several streets away, within Osaka’s bustling nightlife district, running parallel to the Dotonbori canal. Surrounded by other clubs that Sasuke hopes to rival someday, it’s a glitzy monster of neon lights and glass in prime territory. It won’t be easy to come out on top, not when Amaterasu is a host club that markets itself to men instead of Tsukuyomi that is catered to a wider, more common audience: insecure college party girls and cash-rich female nightlife workers. 

He knows he’s already doing better than other male-centric host clubs and even smaller, more established clubs because of his surname and the legacy of Uchiha Madara. It all began almost three decades ago, back when their uncle opened his first host club. He’s sure his uncle’s Yakuza ties helped, because soon The Sharingan was the most popular club in Minami. Seven years ago and a family fortune later, Itachi joined the business and like everything else he does, he excels at running a host club, molding raw talent into top-tier hosts, and relishing in the loyalty of high-spending customers. This was what sealed Sasuke’s fate, because anything his brother does, he has to do better. Fresh from university and with the generosity of his uncle, Sasuke opened his own club. 

  
That was a year ago.

“I prefer running a more intimate establishment. You know we don’t get half as many customers as Tsukuyomi.”

“Naturally. But I read your business plan, and I know expansion is all part of the timeline.”

Every time he’s around Itachi, he questions why he ever got caught up in the family business. He should have just taken the safe route and been a programmer, or something. Instead, he’s trying not to argue with his brother in a host club he named after a Shinto Sun Goddess and the antipode to Tsukuyomi in the middle of the day. “I am. Jugo and I are interviewing candidates next week.” 

“Relax Sasuke, this is not a test. Not everything is a competition.” Easy for him to say, when he goes home in a Lamborghini to a sprawling home in the outskirts of the city, surrounded by fresh air and green grass and open blue skies, but still Sasuke feels some tension melt from his shoulders when Itachi reaches out to ruffle his hair, just like he used to do when they were kids.

“Sasuke, hi” Jugo says, emerging from the lounge area. “I was replenishing the alcohol at the bar and chilling the glasses.”

“Thanks,” he replies. Jugo is assistant manager, with a heart bigger than the sheer bulk of his frame. It helps that he also looks like a bouncer. Sasuke likes their synergy, the way Jugo can see the greys while Sasuke deals with their world in black and white.

“Sasukeeee, I’m clocking in early today. Again!” A voice rings out as a figure steps into the club. “Ah, Itachi-san,” the dark-haired guy says, dressed in his signature style: streetwear with a fancy pair of sneakers. He stops in front of the desk to bow at the waist. 

“Hello, Kiba. I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Kiba is the rising star Jugo had poached from a different host club. Sasuke didn’t see the appeal at first - when Kiba speaks, it hurts his eardrums and he always comes to work with dog hair all over his bag - but Jugo said they need someone funny. Everyone else we have here is too much like you, he said.

Sasuke couldn’t argue with that, and that was four months ago. Kiba is a hard worker who always comes in early, even though he never fails to remind both Sasuke and Jugo, and they’ve seen an increase in a different type of clientele at the club, which is always good. These days, the place feels a little more upbeat, and definitely much louder.

Kiba’s cheeks actually colour slightly. “Thank you, Itachi-san. My only goal in life is to join Tsukuyomi.”

“Your boss is standing right here,” Sasuke grits out.

“A guy can dream, right? Anyway, I’m just kidding,” Kiba says, grinning sharply.

Itachi chuckles. “I’ll take my leave now. Don’t be a stranger, Sasuke. See you soon.” He pats the papers on the desk, ruffles Sasuke’s hair once more, and disappears out the door.

“Help me clean the lounge?” Jugo says to Kiba, who nods before shrugging off his crossbody pouch and storing it under the front desk. 

They leave Sasuke in the arrival hall. He glances at his watch; it’s 3pm. An hour before the other three come in, two hours before the club opens. Just enough time to go through the thick stack of applications before the start of another busy Friday night at Amaterasu. 

* * *

Uchiha Sasuke sells dreams. 

A fantasy in the form of a listening ear, the comfort of companionship, the spark of a bond, overlaid on the harsh reality of a lonely, meaningless existence. These simple things cannot be bought, but here, they’re abundant, hidden between the smiles of the hosts and the warmth of their words and expensive drinks.

It’s where black flames burn away the shadows and the fears, leaving nothing behind but hazy, perfect moments.

When you live in a constant illusion, it’s not difficult to lose sight of what’s real. It’s all part of the job; it’s the cost of fake happiness. Sometimes, Sasuke feels like he’s going blind. 

* * *

It’s been four days of a soul numbing search and Sasuke thinks he would rather clean every toilet in every host club within a 5 kilometre radius than do any more of this.

“Only a few more applicants left,” Jugo says soothingly. 

Sasuke has complete trust in Jugo’s taste and hiring skills, but as an owner, he can’t take the easy way out. He knows Itachi still screens every single applicant that applies to Tsukuyomi, and if Itachi can do it, then so can he. There’s also the fact he hopes Jugo won’t hire another Kiba-esque character.

So far, they haven’t come across anyone impressive. Most who apply think it’s a quick way of getting rich, but it takes a certain type to last in this industry. 

“Who are we waiting for?” Sasuke asks, bringing his fingers to his temples and massaging vigorously, wondering if it’s possible to get rid of a headache with pure will. 

Jugo smiles sympathetically at him and before he can answer, the glass door swings open. Light floods the club, and Sasuke squints. 

“Hi, I’m Uzumaki Naruto! I’m not late, am I?” 

The boy that stands before them is loud in more ways than one. His voice is deeper and smokier than he expects, and he’s dressed in an offensively bright orange jacket, thrown over a mesh shirt and black pants. Skin almost as tanned as Jugo’s, with blonde hair that looks natural and blue eyes that look a little too blue. Sasuke wonders if they are contacts. 

“No. Welcome to Amaterasu, Naruto,” Jugo says.

“Okay, great!”

Sasuke’s headache begins in earnest. 

“I’m Jugo, the assistant manager. This is Sasuke, Amaterasu’s owner and manager.”

He shakes Jugo’s hand first, before reaching for Sasuke’s outstretched hand. The handshake is a good one, strong and firm, but Naruto’s skin feels a little too warm. “Thanks for giving me this chance.”

His smile is a laser beam of genuine enthusiasm.

“We’ll take the interview inside,” Sasuke says, turning away from the blinding smile and gesturing down the hallway.

Naruto takes this time to check out the space as they make their way into the lounge, which surprises Sasuke. Too many applicants breeze right through the interview, eyes glued to only what’s sitting in front of them. Amaterasu is a character on its own, and hosts need to work together with the space - not the other way around. 

Jugo takes the edge of the couch, gesturing for Naruto to sit across him. Sasuke heads off to the bar to bring back three cold glasses of water. He can hear Naruto’s voice from here, throaty and deep, in place of the higher voice he expects someone like him to have. Objectively, it’s a nice voice. Sasuke comes back with the water, placing it on the low table before sitting down next to Jugo.

“Uzumaki Naruto,” Sasuke begins, “tell us why you want to be a host.”

“If you read my application, which I’m sure you have, you’ll know I have no experience hosting. I’ve worked in tons of different places - a fish market, handing out flyers, a sales person at a department store, a janitor at a clinic. I guess the reason I applied here is the same reason I applied to all those different places: I want to experience something new.” 

Experienced hosts settle in easier, but they’re also so jaded it practically drips out onto their customers’ expensive suits. The problem with fresh applicants is that most underestimate the nature of the job and only last a few weeks. This is how their last two hires went.

“If you’re worried I won’t be able to make it, don’t be,” he adds. “My motto is to never give up.”

Jugo nods sagely. Sasuke thinks it’s way too early in the interview to be showing any approval for this Uzumaki Naruto.

“Why did you apply to Amaterasu?” This question is from Jugo.

“I saw the posters outside. It looked really cool, but maybe...a bit too cool? Like, intimidating.”

Sasuke feels himself bristle. “We’re not the place for gaudy neon lights and velvet couches. Our clients aren’t party girls, they’re men who seek good company and have money to burn. It’s supposed to be intimidating.”

Naruto’s eyes go wider, and it’s almost like they grow bluer. “I don’t mean it that way! It’s just...this place could do with some of my energy, you know? I’m a really friendly guy, and I could really brighten things up around here.”

He might be confusing the idea of being friendly with overbearing.

Sasuke swallows a sigh with some difficulty. “Do you drink? How’s your alcohol tolerance?”

“Unrivalled. I don’t get drunk - it’s a genetic gift.” 

“Monster,” Sasuke says under his breath, a little bitterly. For someone in the industry, he’s terrible with alcohol and he knows how lucky he is to be a manager, not a host. Naruto throws him a grin. 

“High tolerance is vital to the job,” Jugo says calmly. “Do you know how a host club works, Naruto?”

“It’s a place for people to heal.”

Jugo’s phone rings chooses this moment to ring and he turns to Sasuke, who nods at him. “I’ll be right back,” he says, disappearing down the hallway.

“Heal?” Sasuke asks, leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms. 

“To be heard, to have a friend, even if it’s just for a few hours.” 

He’s never heard it put this way before. It brushes up against something uncomfortable in his chest, and he doesn’t like it. “We sell dreams,” Sasuke says instead. “We offer our customers what they can’t buy anywhere else.” 

Naruto nods. “I have a few questions about being a host…”

Sasuke nods.

“What’s the working hours like?”

“Six days a week, 6pm to...late. We close on Mondays.” 

“The pay?”

“Amaterasu is the only club who pays a base salary every month. Everything else is by commission.”

“How do we earn commission?”

Sasuke turns to the bar, where alcohol is lined up into the walls. “Sell decanters or champagne towers to your regulars. The more they like you, the more they visit. The more they visit, the more they drink.”

“Got it,” Naruto says. “So when can I start?”

Sasuke is reaching for his glass of water, which he almost spills across the table. Lifting his eyes at Naruto, he glares and Naruto meets his gaze with another grin. This one is slightly different, more glib. It’s almost a challenge. 

Maybe he’s read Naruto a little wrongly - there _is_ a darkness within him, something all good hosts need to survive. 

“If you give me a chance, I swear you won’t regret it,” he adds. 

Sasuke curls his fingers around the cool glass. He sips the water, eyes never leaving Naruto, and stays silent. This boy is equal parts infuriating and intriguing. 

Naruto keeps smiling at him, like he already knows what Sasuke’s answer will be.

* * *

“No,” Sasuke says. “We are not hiring a buffoon.”

It’s a Monday and the club is closed. Sasuke knows it’s The Day to finalise their hire, and so far, it’s not going well.

“If you keep rejecting those with potential, we might as well hire an actual buffoon.”

“Ha,” Sasuke replies dryly. “Wasn’t the one with nice hair all right?” 

“You said he was freaky,” Jugo says patiently.

“A freak will be better than Uzumaki Naruto.”

Jugo is quiet for a beat, allowing the name to ring out in the air around them. “You remember his name.” 

This is the moment Sasuke changes his mind: he will hire Naruto so he can kill him with his bare hands. “Don’t we already have Kiba? He’s the funny one. We can’t have two of the same type.”

“He’s unpredictable and a breath of fresh air. He’ll be perfect for those who don’t know what they want.” 

He sighs, even though he knows Jugo is right. He knew that Naruto was the one he would sign off on the moment the interview was over, even if one of his main reasons is to see just how long he can last in an industry like this.

Of course Jugo knows him too well, because he peels out a piece of paper from a folder and hands it to Sasuke. It’s an employee form, filled up with Jugo’s neat writing and all ready to go. “Once you sign it, I’ll let him know.”

Sasuke snatches the paper from Jugo. It’s almost mocking how the form flutters like a white flag in his hand. 

* * *

He arranges for them to meet at Amaterasu the very next day, two hours before opening.

“Sasuke,” Naruto says happily as he enters the lounge, wearing the same orange jacket. He holds a hand out for a handshake, which Sasuke looks down at and ignores.

Handshakes are for strangers.

“There’s a four-week training period,” Sasuke says, going straight to the point. “If you pass, you’ll be brought onboard as a host at Amaterasu.”

Naruto tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans casually. “Sure.” 

“Some ground rules. Our hosts typically go through three or four full bottles of champagne per night. If you can’t handle it, puke it out at the staff bathroom to the left. Don’t use the customer’s bathroom,” he says, gesturing to the back of the club.

“I’ll be fine,” Naruto says easily.

“Sex is not part the job. We sell dreams and companionship, not bodies. What you do on your own time is up to you.”

“Got it.” 

“We don’t call our customers by name because we don’t want the entire club knowing their names. Some customers are recognisable, and others keep an extremely low profile. We always refer to them as ‘sir’.”

“Yes...sir.”

Sasuke swallows a cough. First he will kill Naruto, and then he will kill Jugo. 

“How did I do, Sasuke?” Naruto asks, eyes sparkling.

“Try harder,” Sasuke responds coolly. “We’ll go through the drink list now. I hope you have a good memory, because the brands and their prices will be on the test.”

By the time Sasuke goes through Amaterasu’s entire alcohol menu and inventory, his watch tells him it’s almost 6pm and there’s just enough time to introduce Naruto to the other hosts.

“Kiba, meet our newest trainee. Naruto, Kiba.

“Yo,” Kiba says loudly, reaching out a fist towards Naruto. He bumps it enthusiastically, and Sasuke feels tired just looking at them. Kiba drifts off towards the bar, where Jugo probably has something for him to do.

“The other two over there,” Sasuke says, pointing to the corner, where two other dark-haired men are applying makeup. The one with sleek, straight hair is drawing his eyebrows, while the other with shoulder-length hair tied up in a sharp, gravity-defying shape, is patting his face with some sort of toner. “Guys, this is Naruto. Neji’s the one with long hair. Shikamaru’s the one who’s always lying around.”

Shikamaru sends a lazy wave over, and Neji doesn’t even look over even after Naruto yells back a _Hello!_. Neji practically lives in his Airpods, but at least he’s quiet. 

“There’s one more guy, right?”

“Kimimaro. He’s our top host, and he’ll be here soon.”

“Cool,” Naruto says, hands back in his pockets. “I like it here already,” he adds.

“Why?”

“You’re young, but you really know what you’re doing. It’s impressive.” 

Pride diffuses gently, easily, within his chest. He hates how much he enjoys the validation, but he can’t help the way it relaxes his shoulders and makes it a little easier to breathe. “I’m not that young,” Sasuke says instead, brushing away the compliment with a shrug. He remembers Naruto’s application form, the headshot and the simple bio data that followed. “We’re the same age.”

“Well, we’re young,” Naruto replies, and for a single, crushing moment, Sasuke feels it. Somewhere deep down, they are still hopeful and optimistic, with the entire world stretched out before their fingertips. Most days, they don’t have the luxury of remembering that because this is their shared reality: masks over faces and tarps nailed over their hearts. 

Kimimaro glides into the lounge, ethereally beautiful as always, and Sasuke unravels this unwelcome thread of thought and brushes it away. “Stay behind the bar and help Jugo out when he needs it. Tonight, you’re a ghost - observe and don’t get in anyone’s way.” 

It’s showtime; they have an illusion to cast. 

* * *

Naruto only trips at the edge of the bar a few times and almost breaks a glass a couple of other times, but other than that, Jugo tells Sasuke he’s doing fine. 

Today, Sasuke is introducing him to an Amaterasu tradition while his other four employees surround them. Jugo is out running errands. 

“All our hosts have a signature drink. You’ve been here for almost two weeks, so you should know the bar quite well. Your seniors will show you how it’s done.”

“I’ll go first,” Kiba says, moving behind the bar quickly.

“I’ll go last,” Shikamaru says, crawling into one of the bar seats to watch. Neji stands next to Kimimaro, and they make an arresting sight: darkness with light, yin and yang. 

Kiba brings out a shaker and pours cranberry juice, maple syrup, soda water and Etsu gin in it. Making sure Naruto is watching, he cracks an egg with one hand and drops the yolk down the sink. With the top screwed on tightly, he combines everything by shaking it furiously. 

Kiba stops, adds some ice, then shakes it once more. 

He grabs an old-fashioned glass from the rack and strains the cocktail in gently until the foam rests on top of the drink, creating a light, domed cloud. Sasuke glances from the side of his eye, finding Naruto watching in rapt attention. 

“The finishing touch,” Kiba says, taking a toothpick and dipping it into the bottle of maple syrup. Shielding the glass from view, Kiba does his magic and when he straightens up several seconds later, there’s a perfect paw print painted onto foam. “I call this Akamaru, because of its colour,” he says, pushing the red cocktail at Naruto.

It’s a beautiful drink, one that Sasuke remembers as sweet on the tongue and easy to swallow.

“Wow,” Naruto says after the first sip. 

Neji goes next, and his go-to concoction is one so smooth and strong that it makes your eyes go white by the way they roll all the way to the back of the head. Unsurprisingly, it’s called the Byakugan. It’s definitely not one of Sasuke’s favourite cocktails, but Naruto downs the entire thing without a flinch. 

Kimimaro signature is always slightly different, but they all retain the same sharp, bitter flavour profile. Today, he adds lemon juice to a gin and tonic before garnishing it with a twist of lemon. It’s a drink just as sleek and bare bones as himself. 

Shikamaru stretches out languidly before picking out a classic cocktail glass. He mixes gin and vermouth into the shaker, and he pours it carefully into the glass. With a flick of the wrist, he drops an olive into the martini and pushes it to Naruto, together with a folded napkin.

“What’s this?”

“Part of the surprise.”

“I hope it’s not your number,” he says unfolding it gingerly in his hands, revealing two scrawled sentences. “A riddle…?”

“My patrons like to be kept on their feet.”

“I’ll settle for the martini,” Naruto says happily. 

“Are you ready?” Sasuke says, and Naruto turns to him to nod. His eyes are clear and steady, and Sasuke can’t believe this guy. Maybe he really is a monster. He’s had four consecutive cocktails and his cheeks are not even tinted. 

“Prepare to be dazzled,” Naruto replies as he makes his way towards the bar, five pairs of eyes trained on him.

He scans through the bottles of alcohol, before pulling two bottles of vodka from the towering shelf. A carton of generic convenience store orange juice appears from his pocket, making Shikamaru’s eyebrows rise dangerously high.

“Isn’t this a health violation?” Neji asks, throwing a glance at Sasuke.

“It’s new, don’t worry,” Naruto says as he pokes a straw into the carton, before Sasuke can open his mouth. 

With ease, he adds all the liquids into a shaker, and swirls it around.

“We usually make screwdrivers with fresh orange juice...” Kiba says and Naruto just continues swirling the shaker around with big, exaggerated movements. 

“This isn’t a screwdriver,” he says, pouring the cocktail out into a highball glass. “It’s a Rasengan.” 

Naruto nods at Sasuke, who takes the first tentative sip. Surprisingly, it’s good. The strong, sweet orange juice is complemented by a blend of smooth, expensive vodka, creating a flavour profile that is surprisingly honest. Unpretentious, but definitely not something that wants to blend into the background.

“Hn,” is all Sasuke says before pushing it to Neji, who continues to eye it apprehensively.

“Not sure if I’ll consider myself dazzled,” Neji says after swallowing, “but it’s not as bad as I expected.” 

  
Shikamaru doesn’t say much, Kiba tells him it’s all right, but when it reaches Kimimaro, he is enthralled. Kimimaro, the one who’s _never_ impressed, is impressed. “This is really good,” he says with a slow, appreciative nod. It’s enough to make Kiba swipe at the drink to take another sip, savouring it properly this time. 

It sends Naruto glowing with happiness behind the bar. 

Definitely a monster, Sasuke thinks, vindicated.


	2. Chapter 2

Jugo is holding down the fort tonight, because he’s been summoned here instead, seated across Madara and next to his brother, a colourful medley of sashimi spread out before them. 

It’s all part of the monthly Uchiha tradition: the restaurant’s freshest fish, light conversation, and sales figures. 

Tonight, their uncle is doing things a little differently. 

“How’s your newest hire doing?” Itachi directs the question at him, sipping his cup of green tea carefully.

Sasuke mirrors his move to buy some time. These dinners are nice, but they’re no different to navigating psychological landmines in a warzone disguised as a restaurant. “Better than I expect,” he answers finally.

“Oh?” Madara says as he leans forward. 

“He’s...unpredictable,” Sasuke admits and it’s vague yet mysterious enough. It works, because Itachi’s eyebrows rise slightly. “In a good way.”

“Unpredictability is good,” Madara says with a nod. “This host club business is getting a bit stale so I’m looking to expand.” Two pairs of eyes rest on him: Itachi’s patient gaze and Sasuke’s slightly more unsure one. “Hospitality!” he says, voice booming. 

“Love hotels?” Sasuke blurts out without thinking.

Now both Itachi and Madara’s eyes are on him. 

“Is that something you’re interested in?” Madara asks, amused. Sasuke coughs as he swallows a mouthful of tea and shakes his hands in front of his face as Itachi pats him on his back. “No, a proper hotel with bellboys and jazz music in the lobby. Respectable and classy.”

“Sounds like a natural progression,” Itachi says. “Host clubs are a form of hospitality, after all.”

Sasuke is still trying to breathe without dislodging a lung.

Madara has a glint in his eyes that makes Sasuke nervous. “I already have a few buildings to view. Guess who I finally roped into this project.”

_Oh._ Sasuke knows. Itachi definitely knows. They both keep quiet so Madara can surprise them.

“Shisui.” 

Uchiha Shisui, their high-flying investor cousin who lives in Tokyo, the only one from their generation who has resisted the lure of the family business and their uncle’s constant calls. If his brother’s achievements are his Everest, Shisui’s accomplishments rest on a separate, divine plane. As Madara likes to remind them: as Uchiha, they all have good eyes, but Shishui’s eyes are the finest. 

A thick slice of tuna disappears into Marada’s mouth. “Exciting times ahead.”

Sasuke ignores the way the back of his neck tingles and chooses to poke at the delicate folds of sea urchin. He has a strange feeling about everything: Madara, Shisui, and most annoyingly, _Naruto_.

* * *

“For the next two weeks, you will be allowed to engage with the customers on behalf of the hosts.”

Jugo is somewhere at the back of the club, and Sasuke is sitting at the bar. Naruto is busy arranging cocktail glasses on the shelf with steady hands and careful movement. It’s almost reverent.

Naruto has survived his first two weeks at Amaterasu.

“Err, what does this mean, exactly?”

“If a customer orders a champagne tower, you will help your host finish it. If a customer wants more entertainment, you go over and inject more life into the conversation. You get the picture.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Any questions?”

“Have you ever been a host?”

Sasuke can’t help but to glare. “About your next two weeks here, not personal questions.”

“...Gonna take that as a yes.”

He had spent a month training at Tsukuyomi. Sasuke worked hard to excel at it - where he couldn’t hold his alcohol, he made up for it by deepening his voice just a timbre lower and sat a little closer to the customers, near enough to brush up against their bare shoulders. None of them were at the club for him, but with his dark hair, pale skin, and even darker eyes, he was not easy to ignore. This power sparked something inside of him that burned out the moment he stepped outside the club and into the dark night, leaving ashes that linger in his chest, light yet uncomfortable. Nothing is real; it is all an illusion.

“Why does it matter?”

“I want to get to know you better, Sasuke.” His tone is open and honest, betraying nothing but the truth. 

“I’m your boss, not a customer.”

“You’re not a customer just because I want to know more about you as a person,” he counters. It’s clear and bright, like the glass in his unmoving hand, like the look Sasuke receives.

Sasuke blinks once, then twice. There is nothing else he can say.

* * *

Saturday night and the club is in full swing. 

Amaterasu is never a noisy place, but there’s the deep hum of different conversations overlaid on top of each other. The lights are dim, not dark, casting an otherworldly glow around the place. The drinks come easily, the conversations flow smoothly, and Sasuke is working briskly behind the bar. He has Jugo behind the front desk today because it’s Naruto’s last night as a trainee. 

Naruto is not hard to miss, with his blonde hair and brightly coloured clothes. It doesn’t clash with the decor, not exactly, but he makes it hard to notice anything else. Sasuke doesn’t know whether this is a good thing, or bad. 

He’s at Kimimaro’s section, engaged in conversation with his usual client. Sasuke doesn’t know he’s staring until Naruto catches his eye as he walks over to the bar and leans over.

“He wants a decanter of--”

“Cognac Gautier. His usual.” 

“Huh,” Naruto says. “Sounds expensive.” 

Sasuke shrugs before turning around to find the cognac and brings out a decanter from a shelf below the bar. “Not the priciest thing we have here, but he comes in often enough.” 

“Who’s he?” he asks, and Sasuke raises his eyes to look in the direction Naruto is turned towards. 

They don’t use names but Sasuke knows the names of most clients. He knows his name is Orochimaru and that he’s a plastic surgeon, but tonight, he’s just a man in casual clothes, leaning closely into Kimimaro’s side. “No names,” Sasuke says, and before Naruto can press, he changes the subject. “How are you doing?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but Sasuke slides a tray in his direction. “Tell me later. We’ve kept them waiting long enough.” 

Naruto grins and it’s unsettlingly, how absolutely disarming it is. 

He makes his way back steadily, and Sasuke can see that the smile he shoots Orochimaru as he pours the cognac into smaller glasses is the same bright, brilliant one. There’s no veneer, no walls, only the unfiltered emotion of someone new and naive. 

Later, when the night dwindles down and all the customers have left, Sasuke calls out to Naruto from the front desk. 

“Have you heard of club Tsukuyomi?”

Naruto shakes his head. “Should I know what it is?”

“It’s one of the hottest host clubs in Minami. I worked there for a bit.”

“Oh?” Naruto says. “I knew it!”

“Idiot,” Sasuke says mildly as he consolidates the calculations of tonight’s earnings. 

“Any tips for a newbie like me?”

Sasuke looks up. “Don’t get your feelings involved because when you do, you lose. This is an illusion. Never confuse it with your reality.” 

* * *

For Naruto’s first day as a newly minted host at Amaterasu, he’s sent out on the streets to scout for potential customers in another club tradition. 

“Don’t feel too bad if you don’t get anyone,” Jugo says before Naruto leaves. 

“Is it that hard?”

“The first few weeks usually are,” Jugo replies.

“This is the best way to find yourself a loyal customer,” Sasuke adds. 

“Got it,” Naruto says, giving them a thumbs up before leaving. Sasuke watches him disappear out onto the street, his orange jacket a beacon amongst the dark figures that pass by, before being swallowed by the night.

“I bet he won’t find anyone this week,” Sasuke says to Jugo.

“I have a feeling he’ll find someone within the week,” Jugo replies. “He’s...persistent.” 

Naruto proves both of them wrong, because he comes back an hour later with a customer by his side. Sasuke is behind the bar once again, and when Naruto walks into the lounge, he almost drops the cocktail glass. 

He has red hair, tousled with gel for that effortless look, and he’s dressed casually: fitting jeans and a deep green sweater. His sports shoes are limited edition and Sasuke can tell that his watch is expensive from the way it catches the light - grey steel and a jade green bezel. His face is a mask of calm, but his eyes are ringed dark with fatigue.

Naruto practically bounces over to the bar. “Do you have champagne?” he asks with a grin.

This time, Sasuke does drop what he’s holding but thankfully it’s just a dish cloth. “He’s ordering a champagne tower _already?_ ”

“No, no,” Naruto says, waving his hands in front of Sasuke. “No. He just wants a glass of champagne.” 

“...How did you even get a customer within the first hour?”

“So I was just walking around, you know near the convenience store at the end of the block? And I saw him inside— ah, this will take too long. I’ll tell you all about it later, all right? So, the champagne?”

“I’ll bring it over. Go back to your catch.” 

Sasuke chooses a mini bottle of Moet, which he pours into a delicate glass flute and brings an extra glass to the table. They’re sitting a respectable distance apart on the same leather couch, but the man is leaning in towards Naruto, who is sharing a story in an animated fashion.

“Sir,” Sasuke says, crouching down so he can place the flutes onto the table, “here’s your champagne.” The watch on his wrist is a Rolex Submariner. 

The man hardly glances over at him, but Naruto gives him a quick nod in thanks. Sasuke leaves them, steps slow and steady and heavy, feet weighed down by the airy light discomfort in his stomach. Thankfully, the night is another busy one so he calls Jugo to take over the bar while he retreats to the front desk and away from the noise and Naruto’s new customer and Naruto. 

By 1 in the morning, people start trickling out after paying and it’s a quick, efficient business - most pay with cash, none make eye contact with him, and they are gone in under two minutes. Naruto follows his customer out, who takes out a thick leather wallet and pays in large, crisp notes. 

Sasuke hands him back his change. “Thank you.” 

He nods and turns to find Naruto, and they leave out the front door together. Sasuke blinks in their wake. 

_Sex is not part the job. We sell dreams and companionship, not bodies. What you do on your own time is up to you._

“Whatever,” Sasuke mutters under his breath, tidying up the notes for the upteenth time. Naruto can do whatever he wants.

“So to continue my story,” his loud voice says, and Sasuke looks up to find Naruto leaning across the desk. “I saw him in the convenience store having a hard time paying for his drink ‘cause he didn’t have any small change and the credit card machine was down. We like the exact same orange juice, imagine that! I helped him pay for it, we started talking, and that’s how he ended up here.”

“You’re back,” Sasuke says, blinking.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Nothing,” Sasuke replies quickly, shaking his head. “You got lucky. He looks wealthy.”

“Yeah,” Naruto says with a chuckle. “I think he is.”

“What’s his name?”

“I...actually don’t know.”

“ _What.”_

“What?”

“You were talking to him the entire night without knowing his name?” 

“Well, you did say to call him ‘sir’...” 

“You’re so...dumb.” Sasuke says, sounding almost impressed.

“Hey!” Naruto replies, “I wasn’t the one who made the _dumb_ rules. I’ll find out the next time I see him.”

So dumb and painfully optimistic. “You actually think he’s coming back?” 

Naruto grins. “Wanna bet on it?” 

* * *

The man returns two more times that week and Sasuke is both thrilled and annoyed, because on his third visit, he orders a crystal decanter of Louis XIII cognac. It’s the priciest thing on their menu.

“Oh,” Naruto says innocently before bringing back the decanter to the table. The amber liquid seems to glow. “This is great.”

It is, for Amaterasu and for Naruto. It should be for him too.

With this one order, Naruto is pushed up to the top, overtaking Kimimaro as the highest-earning host. 

“What’s his name,” Sasuke asks blasely, as they close up the club. 

“You lost the bet. You still expect me to tell you his name?” Naruto replies incredulously, blue eyes sparkling in mirth.

“Shut up, I’m not asking because I care. I’m asking as the owner of a host club.”

“Okay,” Naruto says.

“ _Well?”_

“You asked me to shut up.” 

Sasuke wants to scream but Jugo chuckles from the back instead and Naruto starts laughing. He turns his attention back to the figures on the receipts instead, and the profit soothes his racing heart.

On the man’s fourth visit the next week, on another quiet Tuesday, he asks for the private booth. It’s an extra 5,000 Yen per half hour. There are two private booths at Amaterasu, with a smaller leather couch and a simple table enclosed in an area cordoned off by low walls - enough for private conversations, but nothing enough for any unsavory business. 

This is where Sasuke finds himself: in the second empty booth, behind the one Naruto and his customer are in. He can hear the tone and lilt of their voices more than the actual words, which means he isn’t eavesdropping. He’s just...resting here and allowing their voices to wash over him. The customer’s voice is deep and rough and incredibly distinct; deeper even than Naruto’s. 

An hour into the night, Sasuke’s head is buzzing with their voices and for the first time in a long, long time, he feels the loneliness rise within him, fully formed and enormous, like a sentient being within his consciousness. He stalks back to the bar, pours himself half an inch of Louis XIII, and feels it burn clean down his throat.

* * *

It gets worse.

The first thing he sees on his way to the club is a familiar red Lamborghini parked in a familiar parking spot, glowing in the evening sun. Sasuke doesn’t even bother biting back the sigh. 

The door opens and the driver steps out. 

It is not who he expects. Out of all people in the world, it is Naruto who is standing there, orange juice box in hand, straw in his mouth. Sasuke almost trips over his feet and splits his head open all across the sidewalk, and the blood that will stain the ground would be as red as the brand-new sports car. 

Of course, it’s also the exact shade as the hair of his most loyal customer. 

“Sasuke,” Naruto says as a greeting. “So, uh, G—I got a present.”

Sasuke opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He closes it, takes a deep breath, and continues walking. 

His newest host is driving the same car as his overachieving brother.

* * *

Sasuke throws himself back into work, which is easier than he expects and it’s almost like how things were before Naruto joined - tunnel vision focused on the club and its operations, and the constant mental measurements against Amaterasu. Everything and everyone here is just a cog in the machine, a machine that will end up as a spotlight that will pull him out and away from the shadow of his brother. 

It’s completely normal, as club manager, that he notices Naruto’s growing circle of returning customers: an older guy who talks loudly and orders only the cheapest sake they sell, a dark-haired salaryman who always visits in a suit and briefcase, skin paler and eyes darker than Sasuke’s own. He observes all of them like a neutral third party, which he is. 

Their names are easier to find out than Naruto’s patron - Jiraiya, the older man, pays with a different credit card every visit, and once Sai visited with his employee ID tag still hanging around his neck. 

Naruto is his usual, bright effusive self with everyone, clients and staff alike, even though he drives a Lamborghini now and in just one and a half short months, has become Amaterasu’s star host. Objectively, Sasuke can see the appeal - Naruto is different, not just in Amaterasu, but in the world they inhabit. There’s always an easy smile on his face, a shine within that radiates outwards, and a certain innocence that cannot be faked. He is loud and brash and _real._

“Sasuke!” Naruto says, thundering down the short hallway. It’s closing time, everyone is packing up, and Sasuke’s almost done tabulating today’s figures.

“Naruto,” he replies.

Naruto does this, every single day after work, even though Sasuke responds in grunts and nods of the head instead of proper sentences. He doesn’t seem to know how or when to give up. 

“How’s business today?”

His standard answer is a noncommittal grunt. 

“Are you going home after this?”

Sasuke nods once. 

“Do you need a lift back?”

“No.”

Naruto tilts his head. “Did you even hear my question, or do you just say ‘no’ to everything I ask?”

“No,” Sasuke replies, deadpan. 

Naruto actually laughs. “I’ll be waiting in the car.” 

Once everyone trickles out and Sasuke locks the door and says goodbye to Jugo, he begins to make his way back, the neon lights all around blinking harshly around him. An engine revs, deep and almost guttural, and Naruto’s voice fills the quiet night. “Hey!” 

Sasuke spins around. “Don’t you ever get tired of rejection?” 

“Nope.” His window is wound down, and at this hour, in the darkest part of the morning, Naruto shines so brightly. “I don’t believe in giving up.”

The figures are good, today is not one of the usual days that Naruto’s favourite patron visits, and he’s tired: of saying no, of keeping everything an arm’s length away, of never feeling good enough. But, by principle, he cannot get into the car that Naruto’s wealthy patron gifted him.

“Sasuke,” Naruto says patiently. “Let’s go.”

Against better judgement, he walks over to the car door and yanks it open. 

Sasuke taps his apartment address into Naruto’s handphone, an iPhone model so old he doesn’t even know could still function and it looks ridiculously out of place in the sleek interior of the car. Naruto eases the car into drive. His wide hands are pale against the black leather of the steering wheel. New-car-smell and the alcohol wafting off from Naruto’s skin clings to him like a film and Naruto hums quietly along to the radio and Sasuke rests the side of his head against the cool window.

In the fifteen minute car ride, Sasuke feels unbearably light and strangely renewed and it’s the realest thing he has experienced in a long, long time.

* * *

It becomes routine.

During the ride, Naruto doesn’t pepper him with endless questions. Instead he shares random stories from his childhood in elementary school or something funny Kiba or Shikamaru told him. Basic, harmless, innocuous things. 

“So growing up at the orphanage--”

“You’re an orphan?”

“Thanks for listening, Sasuke. That’s what I just said.”

Sasuke glares at him. “I’m just...surprised.”

“Never met an orphan before?  
  


“My parents died when I was eight,” Sasuke replies.

“Ah,” Naruto says with an understanding nod, and the silence that surrounds them is comfortable and enough.

They’re at the light traffic light when Sasuke opens his mouth to ask, “Why?”

“Why what?” Naruto asks. 

“Why do you keep trying to be my friend?” 

Naruto ponders the question. “Do you consider Jugo your closest friend?”

“...Yeah.”

“Well,” Naruto says, “Jugo knows nothing about you. He only knows who you are as Amaterasu’s owner.” 

It’s true - Jugo doesn’t know he grew up without parents after they died in a car accident. It was just him and Itachi after that, and now it’s still the both of them and a slice of Madara’s enormous wealth. Jugo doesn’t know his favourite vegetable is tomato, even though it’s actually a fruit and he loves it in anything - mocktails, soups, salads. Jugo had asked about his personal life before, almost shyly, once or twice, but that was a long time ago.

“So why do you care?”

“I’ve told you before, I want to be your friend,” he replies earnestly and Sasuke wants to be angry and frustrated at how annoying Naruto is being, but he can’t. This unwavering determination, the way his question has not changed, is almost admirable. It’s solid in a world where everything feels like papered words and shadowy smiles. 

In Naruto’s presence, in this insulated bubble, it’s almost like they are in a different world. Here, he’s not the owner of Amaterasu and his driver isn’t his number one host. He can just be Sasuke, and it’s just Naruto.

Sasuke rolls his eyes, and he’s glad Naruto can’t see it. He’s also glad Naruto can’t see the way his shoulders relax and how his back seems to melt into the plush seat. “You sound like a kindergartener.” 

“Will you be my friend?” Naruto says, almost laughing, his eyes still trained on the red light.

“No,” Sasuke replies, but he really means _yes._

Luckily, Naruto can translate. “So what was your childhood like? You know all about mine already!”

Sasuke sighs and like before, against better judgement, he allows the words to unfurl out around them.

* * *

Their friendship is pieced together in intervals, fifteen minutes at a time. In the car they talk about their lives and the past, but they never, ever talk about what goes on at Amaterasu. 

Naruto had tried, of course. “So you know what Jiraiya—”

“No.”

“—Huh?”

“No talking about work.”

I don’t want to hear about your customers, Sasuke thinks. He doesn’t know why the thought is so discomforting to him, but it is. Even trying to figure out why the thought is discomforting is discomforting in itself.

“Ah, okay,” Naruto says. That was that, even though he could see Naruto glance at him from the corner of his eye, but Sasuke just keeps his eyes steady on the road ahead. 

Today, Naruto brings up something different. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“...Ever had a girlfriend?”

“No.”

Naruto turns to look at him curiously. 

“Keep your eyes on the road, dobe.” 

“Are you gay?”

“What?” Sasuke says, feeling his cheeks colour. “I’ve never had the time to date.” 

“That’s hard to believe.”

“Why?”

“You’re...you know.”

“No.”

Naruto exhales loudly. “You’re such a jerk,” he says without rancour. “You’re a jerk who is really...attractive.”

Sasuke lets that sink in. He knows his dark hair frames his pale face well, and he has the height and build that makes practically everything in any colour look good. He’s heard this before, from admirers in university, from customers at Tsukuyomi during his stint. Somehow it feels different, coming from Naruto.

Sasuke shrugs. “Tell me about your girlfriends, then.”

“I’m gay,” Naruto replies easily. 

His stomach does something funny for no reason. As far as he knows, none of the hosts at Tsukuyomi are gay. They work here because it’s a job. Kiba has a girlfriend, a hostess at another popular club. Suddenly, all he can see is red hair and blue eyes and the red Lamborghini and for a moment, all he can see is stained red. 

“Okay,” is all Sasuke says, because it doesn’t matter to him. It shouldn’t. Nothing about Naruto matters.

* * *

It matters.

At the club, he and Jugo are invisible: the only people who exist are the customers and their hosts. It’s comforting to be able to watch the illusion play out from the outside and watching Kimimaro smile easily, silkily when he hardly smiles at all or see Kiba drape himself over a customer, coaxing him to order just one more bottle. 

Sasuke can only see the tip of Naruto’s blonde head and his patron’s red hair over the low walls of the private booth. He knows the patron’s usual order: a simple bottle of champagne, unless it’s the third week of the month, which he will order the crystal decanter of Louis XIII to close Naruto’s earnings for the month at the top of the list. This is what someone who _cares_ about their host would do.

He’s never cared for another person in this way before, or paid much attention to the matters of the heart because he has always more pressing things to worry about: exams to pass, a brother to overcome, a club to run. 

He notices beauty, of course. The sheen of Neji’s hair, the graceful way Kimimaro moves. Nothing beautiful has ever made him feel anything, until Naruto - bright colours of blonde and blue and skin the colour of honey. 

Sasuke breathes evenly through his nose and exhales softly. Nothing is real, not the things that happen at Amaterasu, not what Naruto and Gaara share, not the way he feels. 

* * *

This month’s Uchiha dinner is different, because his uncle is hosting it at the Ritz-Carlton instead. 

Sasuke arrives early, dressed in a dark suit, even earlier than Itachi. He’s shown to a private room within the hotel’s Chinese restaurant and inside is a big room filled with fresh flowers and delicate wooden carved panels set upon on beige walls. The table is set up for four. Everything is so proper and perfect it’s almost like a dream.

“Uchiha-san has already ordered for the table,” the hostess tells him, and he nods.

Barely several minutes later, Itachi sweeps into the room. “Ah, my favourite brother.”

“I’m your only brother,” Sasuke mumbles with a smile. “Do you know who’s the fourth person? Shisui?” 

“I think we’re meeting one of Uncle’s business associates...someone associated in the real estate industry for his hotel venture,” Itachi says, taking the chair next to him.

“Right.”

Like magic, as though right on cue, the door opens and Madara appears and Sasuke and Itachi stand automatically. “Boys, I’d like you to introduce you to the Director of Suna Corporations’s Real Estate division. We’ve been in talks for several months, and all that’s left is for me to put pen to paper and for Shisui to move over here for good.” Their uncle moves to the side, and a young man with familiar tousled red hair that clashes with his formal business outfit walks into the room. “This is Gaara.”

_Of course_ Naruto’s patron would be Gaara of Suna Corporations. The company is only one of the largest property-based conglomerates in Japan, headquartered in Osaka and run by three extremely private siblings. 

Gaara’s tired green eyes widen for a heartbeat when he sees Sasuke, and luckily for Sasuke, the only show of surprise is the way his breath catches. Sasuke recovers quickly by stepping forward and taking Gaara’s hand in a firm, steady handshake. 

They all settle down, and Sasuke forces himself to focus on the subject of the conversation, not the people holding the conversation.

“...The building,” Madara explains, “isn’t too far away from here. It’s twelve storeys with three basement levels for parking. I’m thinking of gutting it out and redoing everything on the inside.”

“It’s a good size for a boutique hotel,” Gaara adds. 

There is Peking duck and fried rice and delicate steamed green vegetables set across the table but everything Sasuke puts in his mouth is flavourless. Does Gaara know that Naruto got those marks on his face from a scuffle in elementary school? Do they take long car rides and talk about nothing, just so Gaara can hear the sound of Naruto’s laughter? Gaara owns part of Suna Corporations, but who is he to Naruto when they are in the dreamy darkness of Amaterasu, Naruto pouring him drinks and Naruto smiling at him and Naruto, Naruto, goddamn _Naruto_.


	3. Chapter 3

He doesn’t tell Naruto about Gaara and it’s easy because they pretend they don’t know each other when they cross paths three times a week at Amaterasu. Everything is smooth and easy and all very professional.

Things with Naruto are easy and light, just as long as Sasuke doesn’t dig too deep into his own convoluted, unnamed feelings. 

Four months into Naruto’s time at Amaterasu, in the Lamborghini, at the red light just outside his apartment, Sasuke makes a mistake. 

“Naruto,” he says.

Naruto turns to him. 

Sasuke can feel his back pressing into the seat; he’s not moving. Naruto’s eyes are different today, more dark than blue. Sasuke stares and stares, and then realises it’s because Naruto’s pupils are dilated. 

When he lifts a hand up and touches his palm to Naruto’s cheek, he doesn’t look surprised. He doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t even blink. He just holds his gaze, and Sasuke feels the heat from his skin and it draws him closer, a gravity of its own working against him, until their faces are close. Not too close, but close enough for Sasuke to smell the alcohol on his skin, see the sheen of sweat on Naruto’s forehead. 

There are dark circles under his eyes, one that wasn’t there when he interviewed Naruto, and his skin looks a shade duller, from the yellowing streetlights or copious amounts of alcohol, Sasuke isn’t sure. 

He looks at this Naruto before him and thinks about the first time he met Naruto, all those months ago, and he feels the voice reverberate inside him instead of hearing it. _Don’t get your feelings involved because when you do, you lose. This is an illusion. Never confuse it with your reality._

A cardinal rule, the most simple of all rules, almost broken. The spell is broken.

“Shit,” Sasuke swears, drawing his hand back swiftly. Naruto’s eyes are restored back to their simple, brilliant blues, and Sasuke swears again. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m your boss, not a _customer—_ ”

“It’s okay,” Naruto says, just as flustered. “I understand—ah, I’m sorry.”

Sasuke doesn’t know how many times the traffic lights have changed and how long they’ve been sitting here, but it’s in the middle of the night and the roads are empty and silent. “Me too,” Sasuke whispers, knowing exactly how and what he feels for Naruto, palm burning, heart on fire.

* * *

The next day, he tells Jugo to open up and take care of Amaterasu without him. Sasuke spends most of the day in bed, kicking at his blanket and withering in the reality of his mistake. He’s done everything right his entire life, from school to university to throwing himself into the family business. A mistake like this feels incredibly humbling, but he tells himself the world won’t end. He’ll be okay. It’s all Naruto’s fault anyway.

When it’s dark outside and the clock tells him it’s 8 and that he’s effectively wasted an entire day in bed, he jumps in the shower, throws on a dark sweater, jeans and a baseball cap, and heads to Tsukuyomi. 

“Sasuke!” Kisame says when he enters the club. Kisame is Tsukuyomi’s general manager and the most understanding person under his brother’s payroll. “Are you here to see Itachi?”

Sasuke blinks. He doesn’t know why he’s here. It’s just more comfortable to suffer under the dim lights of Tsukuyomi than in the quiet of his apartment. “No,” he says. “Just wanted to drop by.” 

“Make yourself at home,” Kisame says, waving him off. 

It’s the middle of the week but it’s still pretty crowded, and Sasuke is enveloped by familiarity: The sight of Sasori’s crimson hair, the sound of Deidara’s loud laughter, Hidan’s booming voice carrying over the beat of the music. He even recognises some of the customers, like Karin - they were around when he worked here, flirtatious and teasing. 

Someone calls out his name, and Sasuke turns around to find himself face-to-face with his _sempai_ , the one who taught him the ropes at Tsukuyomi. Yahiko looks intimidating at first glance, with piercings in his ears and face, but he has a personality that puts you at ease in seconds; now that Naruto thinks about it, he reminds him a little of Naruto even though his smiles are more practiced and demeanour much more polished. 

“Yahiko,” he says, and Yahiko surprises him by enveloping him in a hug. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Just dropping by,” he repeats. 

“You look like you need a drink.”

Sasuke laughs humourlessly. “I don’t drink, remember? I just...want to escape for a bit.”

“You’ve come to the right place. Interested in that seat in the corner? You’ll be left alone there.”

Of course Sasuke would hide from a nightmare in another nightmare. “Why not?” 

* * *

He ends up taking a week off from Amaterasu, and by the time he goes back to work, he’s confident everything would have settled down and back to being smooth and easy and all very professional.

“Welcome back, Sasuke,” Jugo says when he walks through the glass doors. 

“Everything okay?”

Jugo nods. “Oh, except one thing. Naruto left.” 

“Oh. When will he be back?”

Jugo blinks. “As in, he resigned.”

It’s his turn to blink dumbly at Jugo. “He—What?” He thinks he’s hearing things wrong over the sound of his world crumbling around his ears. Of course the first and only mistakes he makes will be the end of the world as he knows it.

“I know. He was our top earner, too,” Jugo says and it’s of course the last thing on Sasuke’s mind when it should be at the very top. Instead, he’s thinking about the darkness in Naruto’s eyes that last night, the feel of hot skin beneath a palm, and the reality that Gaara is probably doing god knows what with him _right now_.

He nods distractedly. “What happened? Where did he go?” If his voice sounds as borderline hysterical to Jugo as much as it sounds to him, the man does not ask. 

“He didn’t say much. He just apologised for leaving so suddenly. He said he was grateful for the opportunity.” 

Stupid coward, Sasuke thinks viciously, even though he knows he’s the one who disappeared for a week, and for a brief moment, he doesn’t know who he’s referring to. For now, business comes first. He sighs. “We need to hire someone to replace him, right?” 

Jugo nods from across the front counter, and places a neat pile of applications in front of Sasuke. “Ready when you are.”

Sasuke’s stomach churns as he thinks about Naruto and their easy conversations in that suspended world only the both of them share, all gone, and his face must do something funny, cause Jugo reaches out to pat his shoulder sympathetically.

“Hiring someone new isn’t that bad,” he says and Sasuke has never been so glad for someone to misread the moment.

A nod, more to himself than for Jugo. Life goes on.

And it does.

It’s easy to not think about Naruto or the fact that Naruto’s phone number is stored somewhere in his application form when he’s trying to find someone to hire and doing interviews and trying not to lose it when he sees how much less Amaterasu is bringing in now.

Jugo assures him they’re not going to go bankrupt just because they no longer have a red-haired client who orders their most expensive alcohol once a month, and Sasuke allows his days go back to the same old routine. Suigetsu joins the team, an experienced host with a sharp smile who needs no training. He’s loud, similar to the way Naruto was, and almost just as annoying, but nothing is as annoying as the fact that his mind measures other people up to that blonde boy and his unyielding attitude. 

It’s almost comforting, how bland everything else is with Naruto gone. Work is work; he returns to his daily walks back home every night and everything is fine. 

The void he feels is more than loneliness, it’s regret and anger and all the things not related to work or his brother that he’s not used to feeling so close to the surface, so intensely. At night, in Amaterasu, the feelings are dulled through the monotony of routine and in the day, he throws himself into Madara’s project, looking over interior proposals and business plans.

Everything stays fine, suspended in a false-normal. This dreamlike state is almost fitting, until Naruto walks into Amaterasu on a quiet Wednesday evening

Two months after his resignation, Sasuke’s world is reanimated back into vivid colour and edged with a sharp, cold yearning. 

“Hey,” Naruto says, painfully normally, a hint of colour on his cheeks. Sasuke can’t tell if it’s from the change in temperature from the outside, or something else. 

“Hi,” Sasuke replies. He likes how steady his voice sounds.

“I’m sorry for bailing out—“

Sasuke shakes his head and Naruto falls silent. “Don’t apologise.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Why are you here?” 

“I’m looking for company.”

Sasuke frowns. 

“Can I hire you as my host?” Naruto asks with his bright, usual grin but his voice is almost bashful.

He scoffs. “I’m busy tending to the front desk,” he adds, gesturing to the counter.

“We both know how Wednesdays are like here…”

“No.”

“Please?”

Sasuke makes it a point to look anywhere except into those blue eyes. “You wouldn’t be able to afford it anyway.”

“How do you know?” Naruto asks so innocently, and suddenly Sasuke is thinking about allowances and credit cards with zero limits and a single name hits Sasuke like a jolt of lightning, leaving behind the taste of bitter ash in his throat.

_Gaara._

“One hour,” Sasuke grits out and Naruto is already walking down the hallway and into the lounge. He makes a beeline to the private area, and Sasuke trails behind him. He stops by the bar for a can of beer for Naruto, and a glass of water for himself. The other hosts barely pay any attention to him. Good.

He places their drinks on the small table and Naruto nods his thanks as Sasuke slips into the couch next to Naruto. He leaves a good amount of breathing space between them; his skin tingles uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry for leaving without letting you know.”

Sasuke shakes his head. “It’s fine. I wasn’t even around, anyway. What are you doing now?”

“I’m taking shifts at a convenience store while looking for something more permanent—”

“No allowance from Gaara?” 

Naruto’s eyes widen. “How do you know Gaara?”

“Are you dating him?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Naruto says with a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“My relationship with Gaara isn’t like that. All he wants is a friend.” 

His shoulders loosen up automatically, relief flooding his body, even though he frowns. “A friend who buys his very platonic friend a Lamborghini?”

“You’re very hung up on the car, huh?”

“My brother drives the exact same car,” Sasuke snaps. 

“You’re not your brother, and you don’t have to be like him,” Naruto replies easily. “But yeah, Gaara didn’t have the best childhood growing up and I guess we both understood what it’s like to be lonely. He comes here for a listening ear, and I heal him with conversation. Jiraiya told me he liked coming here because I remind him of his grandson, and Sai...Sai had a rough childhood too. None of them like guys that way.”

“Huh.”

A shadow of a grin makes Naruto’s lips turn up. “Are you jealous?”

“No,’” Sasuke replies automatically, even as he feels his cheeks colour with heat. It’s dark enough that he can hope Naruto doesn’t see.

“Because I hope you’d be...I quit because I didn’t want to make things difficult for you. For your feelings,” Naruto adds.

Sasuke’s cheeks catch fire. “What feelings are you talking about,” he mutters. Naruto opens his mouth and Sasuke shakes his head. “It’s a rhetorical question, dobe.”

“That night, in the car...:”

“Was a mistake,” Sasuke says, tilting his head up and staring at the ceiling. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Maybe you should think less,” Naruto muses. “What if there was someone who’d help you figure it out?”

Sasuke stills, and turns his head to the side. “Why would you go so far for someone,” he asks, bewildered.

“Because you’re my friend, Sasuke. But...not a usual one.”

“You are annoying,” Sasuke says with an exhale, allowing his body to sink deeper into the couch. He feels like he’s run a marathon: limbs heavy, head light, heart pounding.

“Annoyingly good with my words. How do you think I became the number one host at Amaterasu?”

“The manager must have been a moron to bet on such an unpredictable candidate.” 

Naruto grins widely and this time, he’s the one who reaches out to touch Sasuke’s cheek, so gently it feels like a dream. It’s not and it can’t be, not from the way the heat of his palm anchors him down, not from the way his solid eyes see right through him. This is _real._

Sasuke softens, first the rigidity of his spine and then his heart and finally all those walls, and smiles.

* * *

## Epilogue

Sasuke drives down to the hotel, where a flurry of cars and vans and people are gathered around the drop-off area. He pulls up at the valet desk and hands the keys to the Lamborghini to the uniformed man. 

There’s already another red Huracan Performante parked in the front row facing the hotel. This time, he has bigger things on his mind other than his brother. Today is the grand opening of his uncle’s latest business venture, and it’s filled with guests and the media reporters. 

“Welcome to Izanagi,” the usher greets as he walks through the door, her uniform a kimono made of pale pink and gold. He bows his head at her and takes in the decor and it’s the exact opposite of the neon lights and shiny glass found at host clubs. Izanagi takes its inspiration from traditional Japanese elements of wood, paper, and negative space. 

It looks better in reality than on the plans he helped go through; very understated and calming. 

“My favourite cousin!” a voice calls out, and then Shisui is in front of him, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. 

“You say that to both Itachi and I,” Sasuke complains but his tone is light. This is what he gets as the youngest member of the family, and it doesn’t rile him up as much as it did before. He’s learning to let go. “Great turnout, and the hotel looks really good. Congratulations.”

“It was a group effort,” Izanagi’s general manager replies modestly. 

“How’s he?”

Shisui grins and both of them glance at the front desk by the eastern wing of the lobby, at the long, simple counter of darkened wood, staffed by several uniformed receptionists. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

By the time Sasuke turns back around, Shisui is gone. He really needs to learn how to disappear like that.

Of course he’s spotted arriving from a mile away, because by the time Sasuke reaches the front desk, Naruto is waiting for him with those open eyes, an open smile, and arms literally spread wide open. “Welcome to Izanagi, Sasuke.”

“You look ridiculous—” Sasuke says lightly. 

Gaara is the one who had introduced Naruto to Shisui and Madara, without Sasuke’s knowledge, for a role at Izanagi. It was during the first month of them ‘dating’, which meant Sasuke’s head was all over the place trying to figure out how to communicate his feelings and being in a relationship and exploring what it meant to be with a guy, and Naruto had graciously declined Gaara’s offer.

A couple of weeks after that, when Itachi and Shisui dropped by Sasuke’s apartment to find both of them having dinner in their pyjamas, that it all clicked.

“You know my brother and Shisui?” Sasuke asked, gobsmacked, looking between his relatives at the door and Naruto sitting at the table.

“You’re dating the guy that Gaara said we absolutely _have_ to hire at the hotel because he has incredible interpersonal skills?” Shisui replied, just as shocked.

“I wanted to keep things simple...no conflict of interest…” Naruto said, almost pitifully. 

Itachi just laughed. 

“—but I’m proud of you,” Sasuke adds.

Now Naruto has a job where he can shine, no longer hidden behind kitchens, convenience stores, or within darkened rooms. 

“Hey, that’s my line,” Naruto says, eyes sparkling.

“Dobe, this isn’t even my hot—” Ah, he gets it. Now, he no longer has to hide behind repressed feelings of inadequacy and jealousy. Baby steps, but recently Itachi’s words slide right off his back and Amaterasu is doing fine and he’s even taken to driving Naruto’s Lamborghini around, like today, without feeling like his skin is going to combust.

Naruto’s smile softens into something that makes his heart feel everything, all at once.

It’s funny, how reality can fall into place so simply, so lightly, around them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. this was supposed to end without the epilogue for an open-ended interpretation, where i wanted to leave whatever happens after their conversation to the reader, mirroring what a host club offers: you go there to escape and interact with the host (or this fic), but ultimately you craft and decide your own experience (ending).   
> 2\. there is an official host club drama CD with naruto’s cast of seiyuus on youtube. it’s worth every second of your time.  
> 3\. as always, thank you for reading! your thoughts or comments are appreciated


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